


No Big Deal

by twowritehands



Series: Touching Gus [2]
Category: Psych
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:25:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, Shawn can almost believe that nothing is going to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Big Deal

**Author's Note:**

> The response from part one encouraged me to continue the story line. Couldn't help it. I just want to torture Shawn a little bit more. ;-) 
> 
> I would love to know what you think of where this is going. Also, PLEASE feel free to make suggestions for plot or kink--don't be shy, I'll write anything--or specific kinds of angst because all I know is I would like to continue this, and I would be happy to take your prompts ;-)

 

At first Shawn can almost believe that nothing is going to change; that Gus got it out of his system, that they’ll continue being friends, good friends, with a smeared dotted line where other friendships have a gaping canyon between What We Do Together and What We Don’t Do Together.

Shawn wakes up from his post- _awesome_ -sex nap alone in his bed, all the right aches; his mind rolls pleasantly though the sex he just had and then—WHOMP—he realizes that the sex was with Gus. That he just let his best friend, in addition to some of the usual rough sex to clear his head, kiss him and… and whisper to him… and caress him and… He groans and puts his head under a pillow. And it was so good Shawn’s getting hard again just thinking about it.

But that won’t do.

This can’t be what they’re friendship is turning into. They’ve got a brotherhood and this will ruin it.

He finds Gus on the phone with his other boss. When the call is over, Gus makes no comment or expression to suggest what happened before Shawn’s nap. Shawn is at once grateful and feels like he skipped a stair while running down a flight of them. He shakes it off and counts his lucky stars, vaguely wondering what it was he did to finally call off Lover Gus from the hunt.

They grab tacos and then in a fit of genius even Shawn can barely refrain from worshipping, Shawn solves the case.

Then he solves another case.

And another.

And all the while Gus is at his side, but his bedrooms eyes have been put back in their box marked Not For Shawn, and he has kept his hands to himself. Not unusual; never in their history together have they repeated the Thing twice in the same fiscal period. They still joke. Gus still bitches about things like his personal well-being and treating the blueberry with respect owed to a company car…

 _Good_ , Shawn breathes easier when day thirty since the Big Thing comes and goes, and Gus parts from him for the night with a smirk, an eye-roll and a grinned, “Night, Shawn.”

That’s all. Not a pat on the back or even an elbow in his ribs. Forget about a kiss on the cheek or a squeeze—or, hell—not even leaving at all.

The pseudo-psychic experiences the internal thunder of a Relief front colliding with Rejection.

Relief like thinking the ski-lift has just deposited you at the top of the advanced course when really it’s only the bunny slopes after all.

Rejection that stings and asks, _didn’t he like it enough_?

Restless, Shawn puts in an hour on the stair master, and gets a shower (and a glorious masturbatory experience in which his mind is filled with being held down and fucked, Gus’s mouth, his tongue under the pad of Shawn’s thumb, sucking ardently.)

Then (dismissing everything that happened in the shower as No Big Deal) Shawn spends two hours with Spanish soap opera reruns on in the background as he pins a bunch of stuff up on his Pintrest and polishes off the bag of cheese Doritos that are this side of too stale for consumption.

**…  …  …**

Gus has to get up early for his real job, so he calls it an early night, leaving Shawn sprawled on the Psych couch in the middle of Wii Tennis that he’d been winning just by flicking his wrist. Once at his place, Gus makes sure he has everything ready to go for in the morning—samples packed in his case, clothes laid out, breakfast planned out, alarm set etc, and turns in early.

But he just lays there.

It feels wrong, to be alone in this bed when he does not feel alone the rest of the time. He suddenly has someone, _The_ Someone that everyone wants, but he still sleeps alone. It’s a fairytale half come true, torn asunder by the cold hard realities of imperfect people.

The fact is that after having Shawn in a way that was a first on many levels, after cleaning him up and watching Shawn’s dopey expression soften into sleep, Gus had reached out to touch him, a hand on his, but Shawn—not as sleep as Gus had thought—pulled away, eyes still closed but brows going together in the classic This Isn’t Right face of Shawn Spencer. After that, Shawn pretended to be asleep when he wasn’t.

That was when Gus knew Shawn simply wasn’t ready.

And that is understandable. This is big, whatever this is. And it caught them both by surprise. Gus prides himself at being good in bed, but he’s never had something like what happened with Shawn… That was more than sex. By accident, they made love and Gus has made love before but he’s never felt _so_ in sync with his lovers, _so_ sure, _so_ happy as when Shawn moved with him and lost his breath and his senses and just came apart so perfectly.

Gus sighs and dwells on when Shawn gave in to him, gave it all up for him in something that was more than a little mental house cleaning. Something that was the familiar hard, breath-taking fuck they’ve come to expect with one another but this time sprinkled with the caresses, kisses, shaking, and soft whimpers that anyone associates with a lover.

What he remembers most is that Shawn almost let Gus see, almost—just _almost_ —put it all on his sleeve, his desire, his vulnerability, his need… a need for _Gus_. It is a tall order that Gus could and would happily fill. It’s rare that someone finds out what they really want to do only to realize that they can already do it, that they can have it, that it’s in reach and all they have to do is take it.

Gus wants to give Shawn Spencer everything.

Knowing that flopping around restlessly only makes the night longer, Gus gives up and sits up, turning on his laptop; he knows some soft music and scholarly pharmaceutical drug articles will drain this excess energy until he’s sleeping like a baby.

Naturally, though, the moment he’s online, he takes a minute to swing by all his social accounts to check on any new updates. Some Tumblr entries make him chuckle. A blog makes him murmur “He must be outta his damn mind!” before leaving that in a comment box. Then Facebook is unchanged and Twitter only reminds him how alone he is because at this time of night people are only posting about how much they love their special somebody.

Pintirst makes Gus sit up and pay attention.

Shawn has been busy here—three scroll pages worth of newly pinned things. Most of them are classic Shawn: jokes related to movies and/or the police force, hot nineteen-year-old girls in strings for swimwear, old man jokes that he also pinned on the page he shares with his dad, cool cars, witty puns…

But then Gus gets to the page that has gifs of cute kittens.

Gus shuts the lap top and quickly pulls on some jeans and a sweater, jamming his feet into his shoes and thinking to make sure he has his phone and keys before he’s out the door.

Some people take a cold shower. Some people think about work or read scholarly articles. But when Shawn Spencer is horny with no outlet to sate him, he turns into a fourteen year old girl and starts to like—too much--floppy-eared bunnies and Justin Beiber and snap bracelets from the eighties.

**…  ….  ….**

Shawn has been distracted from the internet by the impassioned sex scene happening between two female members of the cast of what has just become his favorite late night telenovella when the door opening momentarily alarms him. But it’s only Gus.

Except that Shawn’s insides leave out the _only_ ; they leap and put an exclamation point at the end as well as an inverted one at the beginning. ꜟGus!

He stands up, laughing and gets halfway through inquiring why his friend is back when he’d made such a big deal about needing his sleep for his extended route tomorrow. But Gus strides right across the room, grabs him, and their mouths crush together, Gus’ lips deftly parting Shawn’s and diving right in to own it fully.

And Shawn melts into it; sighing and settling into Gus’ arms wrap like steel boa-constrictors around him. Not that Shawn Spencer has many alarm systems in his head beyond This Guy Is a Killer and This Girl Wants You, but everything in there is malfunctioning and flashing with gauges flipping back and forth and sparks zipping out of circuits.

Gus’s lips leave his to laugh, turning to look at the television where panting and whimpering is happening, “ _What_ are you watching?”

Shawn answers in Spanish and doesn’t get to finish explaining the premise before Gus is kissing him again and pulling him down onto the couch. “We’ll do it here, then, so you can keep watching.”

Shawn laughs, pulling off his t-shirt in a one-handed, one-motion move. He throws it into Gus’s chest, “Dude! That’s the nicest and sexiest thing I’ve ever heard!” his voice is kind of shrill as he shouts but it usually is when he’s this excited and this happy at the same time. He goes to his knees on the couch, straddling Gus. “Why can’t girlfriends be as awesome as boyfriends?”

Gus’ intake of breath in sharper and more audible than he would have liked and Shawn, realizing too late the connotation of his words, swallows and starts to try to talk his way out of it but Gus grips him by the chin and pulls him in for more fierce kisses.

The sounds on the television are setting the mood rather well and on top of that Gus is on wings from being, accidently and only through subtext, labeled as Shawn Spencer’s boyfriend.

**…  …  …**

All at once the sexy morenas on the screen are interrupted by an evil tio but that doesn’t matter: Shawn is well passed needing their breathy, gasping Spanish words about how forbidden this is to stay in the mood. Gus’s hands are holding his waist, fingers dipping into the waistline of his jeans and the two of them getting his clothes off without Shawn dismounting from Gus’ lap proves to be cumbersome. Their snorting laughter derails the mood momentarily when his jeans scrunch up and won’t pass a bent knee.

Hand lotion is in easy reach—purely coincidental, Shawn promises even though he knows that Gus isn’t fooled. Gus is aware that the lotion is usually in the kitchen to use when dish soap dries out Shawn’s skin. He can see by the twinkle in Gus’s eye that he knows the bottle had been situated in its new place about the time the premise of this telenovella became evident.

Shawn laughs because Gus doesn’t roll his eyes about it and that’s another bonus about dudes, they don’t give you shit just for being a normal guy.

Gus gets right to the point and slippery fingers get to work. Shawn holds Gus by the shoulders and drops a forehead onto the back of one hand, turns his face into Gus’s neck, closes his eyes against the burn of the stretch. He listens to the eloquent Spanish from his television, still following the plot despite fleshy distractions, and he chuckles from a joke.

“I gotta find this on DVD, man,” Shawn says, feeling feverish from what Gus’s hands are doing and what it means that Gus came busting in here and started this with no explanations, so he’s sort of scrambling for a hold on something solid. He looks over his shoulder at the television to further break the nuance of what’s happening. “It’s totally amazing. The _abuella_ \--”

“Shawn,” Gus cuts in and his tone makes Shawn look back around to focus on his buddy; it’s not often Gus sounds so gruff and animalistic. It’s a surprise to Shawn despite the straining chocolate love he can feel harder than ever in the front of Gus’ jeans. It’s like Gus is about to lose control and the idea makes Shawn shiver a little.

Gus does not ask his question with words, but a nudge. He’s three fingers in already and the nudge is a deep one that makes Shawn’s toes curl and dew drops drip on his stomach where his bobbing cock taps his abdomen. He drops his forehead to Gus’s lips and his fumbling fingers claw at Gus’s jeans until they are open and he’s free. He positions himself over the cock and pushes down, brings Gus in—deeper than ever.

They’ve never done this position before, Gus with a lapful of Shawn, topping from the bottom, face to face. The depth brings water up to stand in Shawn’s eyes, and he murmurs Spanish swears that have Gus grinning as he adjusts.

Soon it’s all movement and pleasure and holding the back of the couch for leverage as he slams down on Gus who lifts his hips to meet him. Shawn doesn’t have a stitch of clothes on him and Gus is fully clothed down to his shoes, the open zipper of his jeans scrapping Shawn’s skin and adding another layer of sensation to everything.

People are screaming in Spanish on the screen, Gus is holding Shawn’s hips hard enough for bruises, fucking up into him hard enough for bow-legged syndrome in the morning, and Shawn, wrapped in the bliss of it all like a towel that’s been warmed on the sand, is mentally mapping out the coffee table behind him—hibernating laptop, the lotion, the tissues, empty Doritos bag, out of date magazines stacked under a fresh bowl of pauperize and the remote.

He looks over his shoulder and smiles to see he’s right. Just then a gun-shot resonates from the screen and Shawn’s attention snaps there and Gus who has slumped too far down on the couch to see the screen past Shawn gasps—not pausing in his thrusts— “Who got shot, was it Jaunita?”

Shawn barely has the breath it takes to laugh and answer, “The lamp; _tio_ Pedro’s a bad shot—ah!” he’s pulled from the show by Gus coming inside him in a jerk and a flood of warmth. Then when all the movements have stopped, and Shawn is gasping, Gus’s broad hand and long fingers wrap around Shawn’s almost painful, as-yet ignored erection, and Shawn crumples forward into Gus as he comes so hard something pops in his sinuses.

**…  …  …**

Gus’ heart rate still hasn’t returned to normal. He’s not entirely sure his orgasm is over even though his erection has given every drop it can and has softened. His blood is still racing hot, his thoughts still cartwheeling, shivers still zig-zagging through him. He only just gets started in turning his kisses to Shawn’s neck into hickeys when the man is pulling away.

Shawn lifts up so that Gus slides out and then he goes boneless and falls sideways to crash on the couch like a fallen tree with an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction, eyes back on the screen, “Dude, all that needed was popcorn.”

“Next time,” Gus pants, aware that Shawn is over-playing the casual thing as he makes sure not to let the after math this time be like the first time; shared blissed-out silence filled with more soft touching.

Shawn fishes for his shirt and cleans himself up, immediately gets back into his boxers and jeans. “I’m going to put a bag in—butter or extra butter?”

“It’s after eleven, Shawn,” Gus says. “It’s easier on the metabolism to wait until breakfast to eat.”

“Extra butter it is, then.” He grins adorably and slinks away, jeans low under the wings of his hips, sweat in the little hairs at the back of his neck not even dried yet.

Gus cleans up and tucks himself in, zips up and sighs, presses on his eyes.

Juanita calls Marie a _puto_ and a cat fight ensues.

The sounds of plastic wrap crinkling, the microwave opening and closing, humming… popping…

Gus toes off his shoes.

The scent of butter reaches Gus on the couch before Shawn does. Losing patience, he gets up to see what his friend could possibly be up to in there.

He finds Shawn at the sink, the heels of his hands on the edge of the counter, his elbows locked, whole head slumped down to hang from his shoulders.

Gus doesn’t make his presence known right away; he spies.

Shawn has one foot rolled forward onto the tops of his toes, bare arch of his foot exposed. His spine is a long clean swoop of flawless pale skin and the old jeans cling perfectly to hips that aren’t too narrow and fit just right in Gus’s hands. It’s a sight to behold—both sexy and melancholy.

In his socks now, Gus is able to slip soundlessly across the kitchen and wrap his arms around Shawn, who gives a start.

“Heeey,” Shawn says rather lamely, hands going to the arms folded around his middle.

The microwave beeps three times and falls silent. One or two more over-heated kernels explode after the fact and then silence falls.

“Shawn,” Gus says with as much firmness as he can manage, “Talk to me.”

Snorting, Shawn moves away to see to the popcorn, “Nothing to talk about, just getting sleepy. Its past midnight, and I came so hard my sinuses are draining.”

Gus is overly flattered to hear this and his chest puffs up even though he knows the first part of it is a lie. He gets the bowl from the cupboard and joins Shawn where he’s shaking the steaming bag.

“We can do this.” Gus figures a straight on approach would be simplest—gives Shawn fewer outs.

Shawn’s mouth tightens, and, for once, he doesn’t change the subject or make light of it with a joke. He doesn’t say anything.

“I want to,” Gus adds.

“Man!” Shawn whines it, like Lassie just rained on his parade. “Just leave it alone, okay?”

“Best friends have become couples before, Shawn.”

“You want to be a _couple_?” Shawn laughs, “Get serious, dude. We’re not couple materiel.”

With the bowl of buttery popcorn, Shawn heads back to the couch and Gus follows. He lets his friend toss back a handful of fluffed-up corn and isn’t surprised when Shawn laughs and whines and fans his open mouth, makes a big deal about how hot it is—typical subject change, an amateur mood breaker.

Shawn focuses back on his telenova, and he’s using his tongue to pick the kernels from his back molars when Gus moves into action.

**…  …  …**

He’s exhausted, that’s Shawn’s ego’s excuse for why it’s so easy for Gus to pin him to the couch and slide over him, face-to-face with eyes hooded, very serious.

“If we’re not couple material, what are we, Shawn?”

“We’re best friends,” Shawn answers as he wriggles to get free. But his whole body feels heavy and Gus has always been just that much stronger than him even on the best of days. “You know. Brothers.”

“Brothers don’t do what we just did.”

“Adopted brothers, then,” Shawn snaps.

“Shawn, we’re already together,” Gus’ voice goes soft and deep and he drops chaste kisses on Shawn’s face, “Stop fighting it.”

Eyes fluttering closed, Shawn complains, “You’re being weird.”

“I’m being with my boyfriend,” Gus murmurs against the skin of Shawn’s neck and Shawn can feel Gus’ grin as well as hear it in his voice.

His voice will probably sound as defeated as the rest of him, but he tries anyway, “I’m not your boyfriend.”

Gus looks very serious, not Bedroom eyes, but the exact same serious face Gus always wears when someone he cares about is worrying him. He had this face when Shawn flipped out over his parents’ divorce. He had this face when he heard Abby left. This is the face of Gus being there for Shawn always. “Why not?”

“Because…” Shawn hates how hard it is to avoid Gus’ eye when they’re so close like this. He wriggles and twists (feels their growing erections brush) and he tries to see the TV. There’s a character on screen he knows nothing about. Oh, great. He’s missing it!

Gus’ hands tighten around Shawn’s wrists which are pinned to the cushions over his head. “Shawn, why not?’

“I don’t _have_ boyfriends.”

“You have had me your whole life, Shawn. We’ve literally been doing everything _besides_ holding hands and kissing since we were kids! What’s so different about kissing while we have sex, and calling it what it is?”

“What’s so bad about keeping you as my best friend with benefits?” Shawn shoots back, heat flaring across his face, “Why isn’t what we had enough for you? Why do you have to have _more_ just so it can all …”

The words are out of him before he can stop them and his voice trails off as he imagines what cold, hellish day it’d be when Gus washes his hands of it all and packs up and leaves town and never, ever…

Gus’s fingers sweep through his hair, his lips tracing lightly over his cheekbones as he speaks, “I’m not going to blindside you like she did.”

Shawn doesn’t have to ask, knows Gus means Abby. Not even Juliette hurt that much; but then dumping is always easier than being dumped out of nowhere when you thought everything had been going so well...

His words make Shawn close his eyes and he stays very still. Gus loosens his grip and eases off him, never rough with him when he isn’t fighting back. The space on the couch isn’t much but he squeezes down beside him and makes them both fit by wrapping around Shawn.

“Shawn?” For the first time since all of this started, Gus’s voice is unsure and the sound of it makes Shawn open his eyes, look at him, even move a fraction closer, all before he can get a grip on himself.

Gus smiles, flashing his pearly whites and his eyes light up as he moves in, too, putting their foreheads together, “Everything will be the same as it always was except now we’ll get mind-blowing sex every night.”

Shawn huffs, body liking that argument very much and letting itself be known as Gus begins to nibble on his ear. He grins and sighs, “It is pretty mind-blowing, isn’t it?” Gus makes a low affirmative. “Wonder why it wasn’t always like that?”

“You mean why wasn’t it emotionally satisfying to, in the middle of a harrowing case with more than one life on the line, let me bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you without so much as a word or a single kiss or a gentle touch?”

Cracking up, Shawn elbows Gus in the ribs just by barely moving his arm. “Don’t say _gentle_ _touch_ , dude, that’s gay.”

“Said the man who just rode me so hard he has clear sinuses in the middle of spring.”

Stretching an arm out, Shawn can just reach the bowl of popcorn, and he nearly upsets it as he grabs another handful and crams it into his mouth. Not every piece makes it in, and Gus is quick to peck them each up from his chest and around his neck, buttery biting little kisses.

Shawn’s sigh is long and content, but then he speaks and his voice is so solid, so resolute that despite how much it hurts him, Gus knows it will only be detrimental to argue about it.

“No one can know about this, man.”

 


End file.
